Parfait in French
by thedarkestpetals
Summary: Life isn't easy, but life at The Academy is impossible. When you're struggling to step out of the shadow of your famous parents, or to pay the bills, or to tiptoe through a web of lies...you learn to accept it. Behind painted masks and pointe shoes, nothing is as it seems. All couples...please r&r


**Isabelle is a little girl at the beginning of this chapter.**

**So if you like it, please review. don't know if I should keep writing this. **

**Anyway,**

**Enjoy! (:**

The chairs lining the rows and rows in the auditorium were red, the color of the stiff point shoes.

Isabelle watched in awe as the slim figure on stage completed another turn, and another. She cheered along with the rest of the crowd as the man lifted her up above his head and spun her in a slow, careful circle. His expression was washed out by fierce stage lights, but the emotion of joy on his face was clear. She was proud of that look, and was proud to have something like that in her life, that had the ability to bring that smile.

She looked back up to the stage again as her mother and father danced in slow circles around each other, moving with the music like a surfboard rides a current. The music ended with the two dancers hand in hand, big smiles plastered on their faces. She stood up in her seat, and the rest of the crowd followed. A few roses scattered the base of the stage, where ballet fanatics had thrown them. She had her own little special rose, picked from thousands.

It was her mother's bright red rose.

She ran up around a winding staircase and was met by the graceful arms of her mother, her ballerina skirt fanning out stiffly. Her mother's black hair had been pulled out of it's elaborate bun, and now hung in loose black waves down to her mid stomach. Her mother smiled.

"For me?" She asked, bringing the flower close to her heart.

Isabelle nodded, her own bun bobbing on the top of her head.

Her mother's arms wrapped around her small body reassuringly. Isabelle threw her arms up, and let loose a cry of joy. She wanted the whole world to see her balanced in her mother's arms, the proud daughter of the glorious performers.

"When can I...get to be on stage...mama?" Isabelle asked, looking up into wide blue eyes.

"I'll sigh you up for lessons tomorrow. But, It takes a lot of work." She said.

"I just want to be as perfect as you." Her high voice chorused through the emptying room.

Her mother set her back down on the ground.

'Okay, my little ballerina, My mother warned

"I'll hold you up to that."

* * *

The noise of shoes striking the stage assaulted her ears, as the piece feel apart, the dancers behind at least 4 counts and counting. She let out a noise of impatience and tapped her foot, humming along to the music. 1..2...3...4...5..6...7...8..1..2...She sighed and turned the dial on the radio, the music a whisper against the chatter. She distantly wished she was about anywhere else.

Sadly her mother had cruelly assigned her to whip up these sorry little wannabe ballerina's into shape.

If only she could scream

"You don't really want this! Not as a career, it's not as glamorous as the picture books and Disney movies make it out to be." But If she did, her mother would throw her out of the studio, cut her curfew to five, cut her allowance...so no. She had plans for tonight, plans involving Sebastian, and her favorite club.

The small faces of the group looked at her expectantly.

"Well, you guys were...off on the counting, but the steps are getting there. Just don't forget the positions." She said demonstrating the first five, one by one. She wished her mother would move her back to a one hour a week class, for beginners. She could just spend her days doing simple moves like tondue and pas de che.

But her mother wouldn't be doing that.

The pressure was on, for all of them. Her mother had already sighed all the lightwoods up for auditions at the New York dance academy, the most prestigious school of dance in the country. If they didn't get in, the consequences were high. Alec, Jace and Isabelle would either be shipped off to boarding school or spend the rest of their days sweeping the studio and cleaning the toilets in after hours. Her two brothers were lucky.

They actually got to choose their own genre of dance, contemporary and hip hop, the thing she longed for. But her mother had only shoved point shoes in her face almost accusingly. Ballet was for the graceful, she insisted.

I brought my hand down a little too forcefully, showing the kids how to move their arms. A few of them weren't doing too badly.

"Do it like that, except more graceful." She said, flipping the switch on the radio so the classical piece blasted. The girls moved somewhat awkwardly, but for their age and their level, they didn't suck.

She smiled, and yelled,

"Class dismissed." The girls filed out immediately, except for one who stuck around by the bars and started practicing her positions. She approached her slowly, memories of myself at that bar, after class. She almost pulled the little girl away.

"Um...you can go now, there's another class coming really soon anyway." She said finally.

"Oh! Sorry." The little girl smoothed down her skirt and scurried after the other girls.

She frowned, wishing she'd just...quit.

She grabbed her bag and coat which were sitting by the mirror, and jogged out the door. If she wanted to make class on time, she'd have to act fast. It took her quite a while to finally be able to twist the lock on her car all the way, after a fair amount of jiggling and pulling. She pulled out cautiously, the old car rumbling to life as it sped away down the road. She prayed it wasn't going to be one of those times where the car misbehaved, dying in the road or breaking down or losing a tire.

When she did pull into a parking space in the huge parking lot of her school, her car died just before she turned the engine off. She let out a breathy laugh, and took out her phone to check the time. The time flashed accusingly at her from the screen, showing her she was ten minutes late. If her mom found out, she was dead meat.

She grabbed her dance bag off the backseat and sprinted for the door. she slid her card at the entrance, and ran down one flight of stairs.

When she made it, her classmates were already doing floor exercises. She swept past her teacher who shot her an evil glare that could shatter glass. Or snap the wood in her point shoes.

"You're mother will be hearing about this usual event of tardiness." She heard over her shoulder, which could only have been he teacher. She groaned, slipping her shoes on with much effort.

Her blisters were just beginning to heal from Monday.

With heavy feet , she joined the other dancers.

Halfway through the routine, the dance teacher paused the music.

"If any of you are going to pass exams, you're going to have to pick it up!"

She'd almost forgotten about the exams.

But not Quite.


End file.
